No talking, no sound. Just you, your Threads, and every thought you’ve been trying not to have. By hour five, I would’ve happily volunteered for another Demonstration just to hear someone scream and cut through the silence chewing holes in my brain. Okay, maybe not a Demonstration, but something…
Merrin passed through once, didn’t speak, didn’t look at me. Just kept walking, the deep red of his robes trailing behind like smoke.
And then came the creepy guru guy,Serrane, the Sovereign Minister of the Citadel. Head to toe in pristine white, like death dressed in silk. He floated through, silent as shadow, and every single person bowed. Finn. Ezzy. Rowan hesitated—jaw tight, eyes locked on the floor—but in the end, even he did too.
When we finish Finn invites me to the Rec Hall to train with them, like he’s done every afternoon this week.
At first, I think about saying yes. Ezzy’s there, I trust her, at least I think I do. And training with them, more time to watch, to learn. Wouldn’t be bad. But still, the boys. I’m not sure how I feel about them yet. I don’t want to push them away, I want to keep them close, but I also need to keep my guard up. I already let it drop once. So, like every other damn day this week, I make up some excuse and skip out.
Finn just nods, but the look in his eyes says he was hoping I’d say yes. The ache that flares in my chest is small, but it’s enough to make me hate myself for feeling it.
I tell myself I don’t care, that being alone is better and head back to the dorm and curl in that cold, too-hard bed—Mum’sjournal open in my lap, tracing her words with fingers that won’t stop shaking. And when that gets too heavy, I swap it for the Citadel Codex of Order and hunt for the most twisted, batshit laws they’ve buried in fine print.
So far, the Union Clause takes the cake. Cadets and or officers in official romantic arrangements cannot be separated. Sounds almost sweet until you realise it’s their way of breeding a new generation, one forged in obedience and blind devotion. The ultimate weapon.
And that’s just one clause. The deeper I dig through the Codex—the more I try to make sense of this place, this system built to look like order—the sicker it feels.
One night, once I got sick of reading their weaponised rhetoric, I tried writing to Bren. A few different letters, but just tore them all up. They all sounded stupid, I didn’t know where to start, or what to say. And even if I did manage to write something worth sending... how the fuck would he read it? Impossible to get it to him. Three more weeks, I’ll see him again, I have to believe that.
But the journal, the Codex, the letters—they’re just noise, distractions, ways to stay awake a little longer. Because the second my eyes shut, the nightmares come.
Ezzy’s face when she finds out I lied, the betrayal in it, the silence right before she turns me over to Merrin. Ryven dragging me into another Demonstration, only this time someone screams and I don’t stop. I just stand there, watching, letting it happen.
They keep me up, gnawing at me from the inside.
But it’s Talen,the Nightrose,that wakes me, shaking.
I’m back in the tunnels. Damp stone at my cheek, the air thick with the scent of smoke but laced with something deeper—earthy and warm, like leather and clean sweat.
It fills my mouth, my lungs, wrapping around my neck like a noose.
Heart pounding, chest rising too fast, I shift, trying to break free. But behind me, hard muscle pins me to the wall, heat bleeding through fabric I can’t escape.
And then I feel it—cold metal at my side, digging in just enough to promise it could go deeper.
I brace.
Wait for the pain.The thrust.For him to end it.
But it doesn’t come.
Instead, the blade lingers and something far more dangerous happens.
Slow and controlled, his free hand slides up. Rough fingers slipping expertly beneath my shirt, dragging across my skin with the kind of precision that’s worse than violence.
I try to speak, to scream. Try to spit a word, a curse,anything?—
But every sound dies in my throat as his magic coils around my voice like a fist squeezing tight. And then he leans in, breath ghosts hot over my neck, curling into the hollow beneath my ear like a threat made intimate.
My Threads ignite, sparking wild beneath my skin, begging me to fight, to flee. But my body... God help me, my body arches back, answers him.
Every. Damn. Time.
Then just as I'm about to break, just as his hand finds my throat, lips brushing my neck—I wake with a jolt. Sheets tangled, sweat slicking my spine. Chest heaving like I’ve run for miles and gotten nowhere.
All week, it’s been the same. His hands and my body betraying me in the dark. And now, Monday morning, I wake to find I’ve been gripping Ezzy’s duck so fucking tight one of thewings has cracked. I didn’t even notice the splinter it gave me until I grabbed my pack.
But there’s no time to deal with that, because today we find out who we’re grouped with for our first training assignments. Out beyond the Citadel walls—to shadow officers and uphold the treaty, whatever the fuck that means.
